Just Another Tiny Secret
by AMRainer
Summary: Emily has a small surprise for Hotch.


**Hey guys, here's some fluffy piece! Hope you enjoy it.** **I wrote it to fill the "Emily informs Hotch she's pregnant" drabble request on imaginingcriminalminds account on tumblr.**

 **Disclaimer: The characters are intellectual property of CBS, therefore, this is a fan work without financial gain and with the only purpose of entertainment**.

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Although her smile was sincere and so was his, both of them knew there was something else behind her sudden approach. Hotch could almost sense a nervous tinge with her every word, like they were precisely measured to don't give too much away. If he had to be honest with himself, the Unit Chief had a clue – alright, he was _sure_ \- of what was the matter with his dearest subordinate. Still, he didn't want to push. Rebuilding bridges – especially between the two of them – was something he was more than willing to help her, but sometimes one needs to let other reach for.

And Prentiss pleaded them without a single word to don't make it easy. She wanted to prove she was herself that she could fight _for_ them. Whether they agreed with it or not, the team promptly complied - some more than others, matter of factly.

Since the whole situation with Doyle, her exile in Paris and her come back from ashes, the dark-haired man gave his feelings a great deal of thought. It was a dim night, shortly after he made up his mind about his mission in Pakistan. His daydreams drifted as Dave's voice played on repeat in the back of his mind.

" _Emily_ and Haley"

Reality hit him brutally, shoved in those _damn_ shades of black he used to fairly admire from his office window – and it was quite what he got stuck at. From the color of doe eyes to that perfect silky hair he'd often dreamed to run his fingers through, trailing her shirts and jeans and all the last details he could recollect.

He was falling. _Hard_. And there was one single problem.

Emily Prentiss was dead and miles away, somewhere in Europe.

When she returned, visibly tired, different and with that excruciating doubt if she indeed belonged there, the father of one knew it was his time to step in. He wanted to build something _with_ her, he wanted to have a chance, and he was more than done waiting to act on it.

Dave eventually endorsed his plans. The dinner, the house, the _opportunity_ he dreaded for. She'd need a lift, he'd have a car, they could talk, finally be able to speak what they ever wanted to, put an end to that profound connection they unconsciously constructed between them. It was a long time coming for any bystander.

However, Hotch's expectations were overcome – as much as her own - and, by the end of that same night, he'd hold her draped against his body, drowned in that post-coital haze that both of them found to be a much better heal than any therapy could do. They'd felt complete, each of the three times they succumbed to the unique warmth they found in there. It was _moment out of time._

Morning arrived as a reminder that the brunette pair had a choice to make. Albeit Emily's dark orbs matched a shade of tenderness she read on his hazel eyes, the younger agent wasn't ready to take the risks. _Not yet_.

Just weeks later – one or two, both couldn't quite remember – there was a get together at a local restaurant. Emily realized Hotch was trying to compensate her for what she'd been through the last months and, regardless most of her hated the extra attention, deep down she was _thankful_.

That night, after declining Morgan's offer to join him and PG in their post-dinner drinks, the ambassador's daughter made up her mind about _them_. He deserved happiness and so did she. And if they were supposed to have this together – for she swore to God she never saw the man with such wide smile than while he nuzzled her forehead -, then let it be.

It was a _grip_ on his forearm, gentle and unsteady and anxious and all at once. It was a _smile_ , inviting and calm and anticipating. Then it was his lips on hers, his fingers entwining her hair, their hands drawing patterns in a desperate _need_ -driven minute.

Emily woke up to his sleepy tousled hair, his slender frame covering hers in such a way she couldn't gather words to describe. For the first time in long while – she knew this phrase was a _damn_ cliché – she felt safe, protected.

Only now she sat across him with a tiny piece of them growing within her, small, _unnoticed_ , and ready to shake their lives upside down. Although Hotch made clear throughout the years he was definitely a family guy, the brunette woman wondered idly if he would take this well. Part of her blamed them for not doubling birth control, part of her fantasized about a small child of them in her arms – dark hair, dark eyes, the father's dimples and the mother's lips.

Yes, definitely a sight she was looking forward to. Emily fidgeted slightly under the table that separated them. She introduced their conversation with a family subject – _Jack_ , who she needn't to know further to understand there was something just odd about the little boy these last weeks – and then he quickly turned to her stay in Paris.

Almost, but very much so, she chickened in the last second. With a breath kept in her lungs, the soon-to-be mother softened her natural smile, used his disarmed posture to bring up her real intentions.

"There's something we need to discuss" it was barely a whisper, a tone above it or something.

"Go ahead" the older agent encouraged her for he always had an unbelievable knowledge of her behavior.

" _Hotch_ …" she blew some air, averted his infinite gaze, an unsuccessful attempt to ease the tension on her shoulders "I don't know how to say this"

The Unit Chief eyed her _tell_ carefully, pondering whether this was the time to ignore professional boundaries and interlace her feminine fingers to his gun calloused digits. He had to, he just _had_ to.

"Sweetheart" they came in touch, skin on skin above the surface, right where anyone with a pair of eyes could see. He didn't miss how she shifted on her seat, probably startled by his gesture. "It's…"

"No, Hotch, I need to tell you" she looked down at their hands, mingled so casually, like they have been doing this for a lifetime "Hotch, _I-_ I'm… God, why this is so difficult?" he squeezed her hand, softly, enough to reassure her "I'm… _pregnant_ "

Notwithstanding he was plenty aware of her announcement, the father of one – _two_ – rarely restrained his emotions to flow wildly, painting every line on his face whilst he gave her a bright grin. Heartfelt, _kind_ , hopeful. All of the walls she had built to seclude herself from feelings, crumbled with silent grace, opened up to what he was offering right in front of her. She could read it from his posture to his eyes, every curve longing to tuck her into his arms and hold on for dear life.

"Are you sure?" he was about to explode, she was too, but he maintained enough rationality to assure that this was not another dream – the man was whipped, _goddamn_ _he was_.

"Yes, I mean, my practitioner confirmed before this case" her gasp was contented and his chuckle formed as a mere outburst of how gleeful he was, perhaps the dark haired man wasn't even aware he actually did that.

"This is…" he leaned back on his seat, creating more space between them therefore he could slip his free hand through his hair, dimples never leaving as he shook his head in amusement.

"Scary, but awesome" her eyes lingered on the interactions of their team, each one apparently lost there and none minding the unprofessional moment on the back of the jet – that's what she supposed, at least.

"Hey" a hint, tiny one, gave away what she was seeking with that conversation: _reassurance_. Emily Prentiss was a strong, independent woman - Hotch would never doubt that for minute. But he could tell what days hiding it from him brought her. A bit of anxiety, a bit of second guessing… he was feeling it himself if he had to be honest. "We'll work this out as soon as we land"

"It's not gonna be easy, you know, there're a lot of people into this" looking down at her – _still_ – flat stomach, his dearest subordinate cupped where their baby probably rested, before she finally glanced up at him "And I just came back… I don't know"

"I wish I could tell you everything will be fine and perfect, and we'll be happy-go-lucky whole way through it, but…" he sighed, intense stare proving his point and the veracity of his sentence "I'm willing to go through it, Emily, if you want me to."

His eyebrows raised the slightest, hazel eyes glowing as they opened a quarter more, allowing the younger agent to fix his sight on him. She was aware Strauss would use this _against_ them, also the possible intercurrences still to come and what other agents would gossip about _her_. Put aside she'd be grounded until she came back from maternal leave. Over one year without field activities. And though such idea enraged her, it was necessary to keep that little piece of _them_ secure.

She could do that – _they could_ – and Prentiss knew that's what she intended from the very beginning. _Closure_.

Thus, her answer was bit sheepish, mouthed while she caught a glimpse of JJ approaching to take a seat on the other side, but he saw truth therein, and that's what he accepted as meaningful, "I _do_ ".

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